


Same car. Always crashing.

by TonicHoliday



Category: Always Crashing in the Same Car (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Groundhog Day, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 17:16:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonicHoliday/pseuds/TonicHoliday
Summary: Could he really be this good? Good enough to convince every person James knew to play along with this wicked game?No. Bill was good. But notthatgood.





	Same car. Always crashing.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyacinthus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthus/gifts).



He woke in his own bed, report on the bedside table, bookmarked halfway.

At breakfast, _déjà vu_ didn’t apply. It was worse. _Déjà vu_ squared. _Déjà vu_ to fucking infinity.

It didn’t make any sense.

Bill called the emergency meeting. James sat quietly while everyone seated around the table said the same thing, had the same argument. This time, he didn’t fly off the handle. It ended amicably. James left, stunned, drove home in an eerie sort of calm.

Tyres screeched when the woman pushed her trolley across the road. He broke in time; she survived.

A prophetic dream, perhaps?

~

Mary poured his coffee from the same filter jug. Same water. Same beans.

It couldn’t be a mental condition, like shock or something. He would’ve shaken himself out of it by now.

Like clockwork, Bill called the meeting. The same faces gathered around the same table, discussing the same report. Bill watched over his pawns. While one of them droned on, he met James’ eyes and smiled. That hadn’t happened before.

Could he really be this good? Good enough to convince every person James knew to play along with this wicked game?

No. Bill was good. But not _that_ good.

~

By the seventh day, James knew he’d died. This repeating day from hell was purgatory. Colliding with the woman might’ve made his car swerve, snatched the wheel from his hands and sent him into a wall. This was his chance to set things right before passing over.

By the seventieth day, James knew he was in hell.

He hit the woman purposefully, rifled through her trolley, laughing wildly.

He sprinted across the meeting table and choked Bill where he stood.

By the seven-hundredth day, James sobbed on Bill’s shoulder, told him everything, and begged for his help.

Bill smiled. “Finally.”


End file.
